Broken Brain, Healing Heart
by NeonDreams
Summary: Working title. When events of consequence occur, past events of consequence tend to make a reappearance. Featuring Triela, Claes, Hillshire, and Pinocchio.
1. Compliment

**A.N. **Before anything else, I'd like to thank you for reading this fanfiction. Even if you hate it, even if you don't read everything...thank you.

**Special thanks to:** Kiskaloo, Piero, and all the others on the chatbox who helped me when I was stuck during prewriting. Your suggestions won't be up for several chapters, but without them one of this story's climaxes wouldn't exist. Also, your interest in this fanfiction is what got me to start working on this chapter so soon.

Mind you, this chapter will be short.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Gunslinger Girl, -Il Teatrino-, or any of the characters in this story.

* * *

Broken Brain, Healing Heart

Chapter One

Compliment

* * *

A compliment is a statement of an agreeable truth; flattery is a statement of an agreeable untruth.

**Sir John A. MacDonald**

* * *

Triela panted with exhaustion. She'd been running...actually, how long _had_ she been running? With each step her shotgun grew heavier slung across her shoulder. After each breath it was harder to keep her handgun steady as she fired round after round. Her hair hung in her eyes, sweat ran down her cheeks. Gripping her last stun grenade, she lifted her arm to fling it into the next room when a man's voice stopped her.

"Good work, Triela. We're done for today." Then, a louder, "Stop the simulation!"

Relaxing, the first-generation cyborg nodded, still breathing heavily, took a moment to compose herself, and walked down the long hallway toward the entrance of the training grounds.

The other fratello were waiting in front, and as she exited the building Rico hopped off the fence and sprinted forward to the first round of targets. Pausing to wish the others good luck, she opened the passenger door of Hillshire's Mercedes and waited. The few minutes it took for him to arrive gave her artificial heart time to calm down.

Her handler got into the car with something akin to a smile on his face, an expression that Triela had never seen grace his features. He said nothing until they were out on the highway.

"Um...Hillshire?"

"Yes?"

"Where are we going?" she asked, bewildered. She'd been told that there were no missions scheduled for them today.

"I thought we'd go grab something to eat. That new cafeteria staff doesn't know what they're doing."

"Oh. Um, okay."

He was still smiling. Why the hell was he smiling?

"You did really well in there, Triela. Better than Petrushka, judging by the look on Alessandro's face."

Ah. So that was it.

"You really don't like him, do you?" asked Triela. She scrutinized his face, judged every movement as he answered, his smile wavering a bit. She glanced at his speedometer and noticed the needle jump from the usual 100 km per hour to 110.

"No, I don't."

She opened her mouth to ask why, but there was no need.

"He doesn't take things seriously enough. If his cyborg were injured, he would just take her in for repairs. And he'd let it happen again and again, not caring whether her lifespan was shortened by two days or two years." Hillshire let out a deep breath and Triela watched in relief as the little needle drifted toward the left again.

When they hit traffic, her handler turned to her. He wasn't smiling like an idiot again—thank God—but his eyes had softened.

"Triela, you really did do well out there. I'm proud of you."

The warm tone of his voice caught her off guard. Sure, they had become closer, but it was just too weird for him to be acting like this. At the same time, each word of praise lifted her spirits higher and higher. Suddenly she was blushing and grinning like Henrietta.

_Ugh_, thought Triela._ I'm such a goddamn hypocrite!_

* * *

Claes watched her roommate enter carefully, analyzing every movement. The other girls had spilled everything to her, and before she interrogated Triela she wanted to see what she could observe for herself.

The blonde entered, smiling faintly. She stood in the doorway for a heartbeat and then walked over to where Claes sat at the easel. "What is it this time? Another landscape?"

"Yes," said Claes, not taking her eyes off Triela. Another second of silence. Then, "Where were you?"

"Oh." Triela glanced at the ceiling. "We, uh, went out for dinner."

"Who's we?" Claes took off her glasses slowly, watching Triela's blue eyes widen. "The others have been back for hours."

The blonde choked out a laugh. "Claes, you sound like the parent of a teenager who broke curfew."

"That's not so far from the truth, actually."

Triela stood still, staring at her fellow cyborg. Then she sighed.

"Hillshire took me out to eat, all right?" she muttered, then turned away so she wouldn't have to see the smile. _Score one for Claes._

"Oh?" Triela could feel her best friend's eyebrows rising. "Where? How fancy was it? Did you order dessert?"

"It wasn't pricey. Family-owned. But it was really good."

"Did you order dessert?" Claes insisted.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm reading a book." Claes held up a thick hardcover. "This woman is a genius. She's figured out how to tell from the first date if a guy is _the one_ or not." She watched in satisfaction as her friend's caramel-colored complexion turned crimson.

"Claes!"

"Well, did you?"

"...Yes." _Score two._

Claes chuckled, then threw her head back and laughed. "I knew it!"

Triela picked up the spare blanket from its place against the wall and flung it at her psychiatrist-farmer-painter-roommate.

* * *

**A.N.** Once again, thank you very much for reading!

Any and all feedback is appreciated!


	2. Haunting

**A.N.** Wow, I've already gotten some feedback on the first chapter! Which did, I admit, lack plot. However, it felt more comfortable for me to start off with more of a "another normal day at the SWA" than...this, actually.

This should be the average length for a chapter. However, the last few chapters should be considerably longer. Note; updates will be at irregular intervals, and I'm quite prone to Writer's Block, so I ask you in advance to bear with me.

Standard **disclaimers **apply...I don't own, all references to real events are coincidental, etc.

* * *

Broken Brain, Healing Heart

Chapter Two

Haunting

* * *

At such a loving invitation, Pinocchio, with one leap from the back of the orchestra, found himself in the front rows. With another leap, he was on the orchestra leader's head. With a third, he landed on the stage.

**Carlo Collodi,**_ Pinocchio  
_

_

* * *

_

The sun had not quite yet revealed itself when Triela's alarm detonated in her ear.

"Ungh..."

She didn't make herself move for thirty-two more seconds, her eyes traveling along the whorls in the wood of the bunk as they adjusted. At last she forced herself to stand and prepare for the day, changing into a dark gray suit. It took an hour of hunting for her hairbrush before Claes sat up with a yawn.

"You're up early today," she commented, rubbing her eyes. "What's the rush?"

"A mission," answered Triela. She let out a small cheer of victory when she at last discovered her brush and began pulling her hair into pigtails. After grabbing her handgun and M1897 shotgun, she walked out the door.

"Good luck!" said Claes, already immersed in that damn psychology book.

* * *

"Hey Triela!" said Henrietta cheerfully. She shut the trunk hatch of the black van, her violin case already loaded. "Giuseppe and Hillshire are on their way."

Triela nodded and opened one of the backseat doors. "Do you know what it is we're doing?" _More like who it is we're killing._

The brunette shook her head. "No, but I'm sure we'll find out soon."

* * *

"Our target is Carlo Massimo, a wealthy former Senator who is sympathetic to Padania's cause. He's been in hiding since last August, when we nearly had him, but our sources have told us he'll be coming through this morning. We'll stop the van in the parking garage of the Leonardo da Vinci airport. Hillshire will accompany you and play the part of your father while we approach Massimo. Once you are out of the sight of civilians, we'll take them. Aim to kill, and do it quietly. We estimate there will be four or five bodyguards. When you've finished, I'll bring the van around and we'll get out of here. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" both cyborgs replied. Triela stowed her shotgun in one of the small suitcases Giuseppe provided and shoved her handgun into the inside pocket of her suit jacket.

"Let's get going, then," said Hillshire.

The parking garage was almost devoid of people, besides a tightly knit group of what appeared to be tourists.

"That's him," muttered Hillshire. "Giuseppe, we have a positive ID. Moving in on the target now." Triela nodded and fingered the cool metal inside her jacket. Henrietta's expression hardened. Moving up to the outermost of Massimo's guards, Triela tugged like a child on his sleeve.

"Excuse me, sir, but do you have the time?"

The guard's face remained expressionless. "It's—"

Henrietta pulled out her SIG and fired. Within seconds the brunette had shot two men in the head, and while she and Hillshire took care of the rest of the entourage Triela moved in on the main attraction. Fighting her way past the last persistent bodyguard, she lifted her handgun to fire. In the fraction of a second before she pulled the trigger, Massimo pulled out a switchblade. She shot him just as his knife whistled past her left year.

The bullet landed in his chest, just below his heart. His blood seeped onto the frigid concrete and he gasped in pain. Triela couldn't take her eyes off his face.

Then the blast of another gun sounded from behind her, and another wound appeared on his forehead. The cyborg turned to see Hillshire looking at her, an unreadable expression twisting his features.

Lowering her handgun, the mission over, Triela's eyes wrenched back to Carlo Massimo's body. Pale blonde hair, blue-green eyes. Another knife lay by his hand, just out of reach. Chilled, she turned her back on the dead man and ran like her life depended on it toward the van, where the others were waiting. She couldn't meet her handler's eyes as she slid into the backseat.

Triela said nothing the entire ride home, hugging her knees to her chest and trying to concentrate on the hail pummeling the roof. For a split second she could feel one of Pinocchio's blades slicing her arm, or her own bullets burying themselves in her flesh. While she walked to the dorm she could feel the sting in her limbs from after their last encounter. She couldn't see Henrietta as she chattered on about nothing; she was convinced that her right eye was still covered by a bandage.

"Triela!" Hillshire yelled. Startled, she turned. He kept walking until he was only two feet away.

"Yes?" she asked, her eyes distant.

"Did Massimo...did it...scare you?" he asked awkwardly.

"Why would it scare me? I didn't know him," she answered in a monotone. He reached out as if to touch her arm, but her expression remained carefully neutral and he kept his hand to himself.

"Triela..."

She turned, her hair flying in his face. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'll see you later, Hillshire."

She kept walking, the click and clack of her shoes a metronome. One step after the other, and all she could think about was Milan.

* * *

_A knife knocked her gun out of her hand, and her mind screeched a single warning.  
_

_Pinocchio. Pinocchio! _Pinocchio! PINOCCHIO!

_She aimed a kick at him, and as he dodged it she matched the hostility on his face with some of her own. Beneath the facade, doubt and fear filled her._

_"You're the girl from Montalcino. You've come to take my my uncle, have you? I should have killed you when I had the chance."_

_She noticed his fingers twitch toward what must be a knife under his sleeve, yelled a retort and drew her own blade._

_"Just _try _it!"  
_

_

* * *

_  
Thankfully, Claes was working on her vegetable garden. Taking a detour would risk running into someone else, but Triela didn't want her best friend to see her...not like this.

She took the stairs three at a time, flung open the door, slammed it shut, dropped her things, and then walked quietly to the bottom bunk. Sinking into the mattress, she stared straight ahead, seeing nothing.

After a few minutes she fell back against her pillow and let out a long sigh.

When Claes walked in, she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

At dinnertime, she mumbled a "not hungry", closed her eyes, and pretended to be asleep.

When Claes called in Henrietta and Rico to poke and prod her, she pulled her quilt over her head, closed her eyes for good measure, and pretended to be asleep.

When Claes finally dialed Hillshire's number as a last resort, Triela prayed silently that she'd get voicemail even as she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

When Claes let Hillshire in, Triela stared at him blankly.

"Do you think we could talk privately for a minute?" he asked Claes. As a mischievous grin spread over her face and Triela shot her a "don't you start" glare. She grabbed her psychology book from the table and stepped outside, no doubt listening through the door.

Hillshire was silent for so long it unnerved her. He just stood there and stared expectantly until Triela sat up with a huff.

"What?" she asked irritably.

"Talk. I know something's bothering you. It's either me or Bianchi."

She struggled to keep her expression deadpan. "You wouldn't."

"Yes, I would. If he sees what I see he will remove you from active duty." He looked completely serious.

"And what _is _it you see?" she challenged.

"Massimo upset you, Triela. I have a hunch as to why, but I'd like you to tell me."

"If you know already, then just take me in to Dr. Bianchi. Or increase my level of conditioning."

He flinched. "You know I won't do that. It would shorten your lifespan."

She let out a harsh laugh. "Life? What life? We kill and kill and kill, and because it's finally starting to get to me you think something is wrong?"

Hillshire moved closer and took her by the shoulders. "Triela, if Pin...If _someone_ is haunting you I would like to know."

She looked at him in anguish. "Why won't it go away? He was an enemy...It was supposed to be just another job! Why won't it go _away?_"

Hillshire's expression darkened, and his grip on her shoulders tightened as he answered.

"Rachel won't go away, either," he said.


	3. Nightmare

**A.N. **Not filler; I repeat, NOT FILLER. However, I didn't enjoy writing this chapter nearly as much as the rest, and I'm sure the quality suffered because of it. My apologies. I did my best, and it was better as an idea than an actual, written out...thing. It will get better soon, I promise.

School is starting back up for me tomorrow, and I get inspiration from friends/my English teacher's zany stories/rude people/stupid assignments, so...look forward to that, I suppose.

Be prepared for lots of tears and mood swings.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Gunslinger Girl

* * *

Broken Brain, Healing Heart

Chapter Three

Nightmare

* * *

I see the dream and I see the nightmare, and I believe you can't have the dream without the nightmare.

**Tori Amos,** _American Singer_

* * *

_Pinocchio fingered his longest knife, drawing it out its sheath slowly. He stroked the handle, scratching his chin with the other hand. His stance was casual, as if his life wasn't in danger._

"_So what is it you want?" he asked, speaking indifferently. "My uncle? No, I don't think so."_

_Triela tensed from behind him, her P232 shaking as she answered. "What the hell are you talking about? Of course that's what I'm here for!"_

_Pinocchio sighed. "I'm no good with girls, but I can tell your pride is wounded. You came back for revenge. That's why you sought me out, because now you think you can kill me." He had a second knife out now, and a shiver went down her spine as he scraped their serrated edges together._

_Shocked at his accuracy, Triela said nothing, her finger trembling as she placed it on the trigger. So what if she wanted revenge? Regardless, she had to exterminate him. The anger boiling inside fueled her attacks, sharpened her senses._

"_I don't think it will be that easy for you. Especially not when all you have is that stupid gun. I'm much too fast to be done in by that thing," he sneered._

_That riled her. Triela dropped her handgun and pulled on the handle protruding from the sheath on her hip. It wouldn't budge. So she tugged harder. She pulled and pulled and pulled—_

_And then Pinocchio had her gun. He raised it to her eye.__ Through the film of tears she saw his mouth move._

"_Goodbye, girlie."  


* * *

_  
"Triela! Wake up! Triela!"

The blonde opened her eyes to see Claes's worried face hovering over her. Tears seeped from her eyes as she buried her head in her hands.

"Are you okay? You started screaming, like you were on fire."

"I think I'll be fine. You can go back to sleep. Just...just a bad dream."

"All right..." Casting a last concerned look at her friend, Claes climbed the ladder and settled into her bed again. Within minutes she was sound asleep. Lying awake in her own bed, Triela tried to forget her bad dream. _Think of good things, like...um...teddy bears. Yes. Think of teddy bears, Triela._ Disentangling herself from the mess of sheets and comforters, Triela tiptoed stealthily across the room until she reached the shelf where Hillshire's presents lay. Squinting in the dark, she tried to make out their furry faces, searching for one in particular.

_Aha!_

She snatched Happy from the display and tucked herself back into bed, cocooning herself underneath the quilt while conjuring images of the bear's siblings.

Her original dream was simple—those same bears dancing around in her head. Happy took her hands in his warm paws and danced with her, and she laughed because _she_ was happy, and being happy was a relief.

Then the dream changed, and Grumpy stepped in. He led her away from the others, to a dim landscape painted storm cloud gray and black.

"_What is this place?" she asked, but he had gone._

_Pinocchio's ghost rose out of the shadows, grinning cheekily at her. She reached for her gun but found that she had paws now, too. And bears just don't carry around weapons, it turned out._  
_He took the same knife from before and stabbed her. At first she laughed._

"_You can't hurt me!" she mocked._

_It was only then she saw the stuffing falling out of her chest._

"_Goodbye, girlie," said the ghost.  
_

* * *

This time Triela woke up gasping, a single bead of sweat sliding down her cheek. Clutching Happy even closer, she buried her face in her pillow and repeated in her head:_ It's all a dream, it's all a dream...All...a dream..._

When she had calmed herself, she checked the alarm clock's illuminated screen. 4:30.

_Better to be a little tired than scared shitless_, she reasoned.

Dragging herself to her feet, Triela grabbed her toiletry bag and shuddered all the way to the bathroom. Once inside, she brushed her teeth and splashed cold water on her face, unable to look at herself in the mirror. On top of it all, her legendary cramps were getting worse.

"You're lucky you're really dead, Pinocchio," she murmured to herself, "because I'm in the mood to kill something."

* * *

Desperate to find something occupy her spare time, Triela looted her best friend's bookcase as Claes herself slept peacefully on. Unfortunately, she found nothing but nonfiction (which she feared would make her drowsy), classic literature that her handler had already assigned, and some more racy material that she flung away, blushing, upon sight. Irritable because of her period and lack of sleep, she paced around the room, not caring if she woke those below her, indifferent to her fellow cyborgs' final hours of sleep as she muttered under her breath, kicked the wall, and threw an impressively violent tantrum until the sun rose. Her roommate was an unnaturally heavy sleeper, but even she shifted as Triela launched Grumpy into the wall again and again.

"Stupid bear," she cursed. "Stupid nightmare...Stupid Pinocchio. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ Pinocchio!"

At 5:30 Claes finally awoke.

"What are you doing?" she mumbled, fighting a yawn.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" snapped Triela.

Claes observed for a minute before answering. "It looks to me like you're trying to make a dent with what is essentially a ball of fluff."

"Bingo!" said Triela sarcastically.

"Okay then." Claes stood and stretched, then put on her glasses and sat by her easel.

"...Aren't you going to ask why?"

"No."

"You're not curious?"

"Not really."

Listening to the faint sound of Claes's largest brush on the canvas, Triela felt her sulky mood fading. She moved (trying not to stalk) over to peek at the painting.

"A teddy bear..."

"Shit!" exclaimed her roommate, shoving Triela out of the way and covering her masterpiece with the spare blanket. "You weren't supposed to see it yet!"

"Sorry," Triela sniffed, realizing in dismay that her eyes were watering. All too soon the tears spilled over, coming faster and thicker with each second. Reaching for her pillow, she buried her face in it, sobbing soundlessly.

She could hear Claes's footsteps as she busied herself making tea. A few minutes passed before her friend pried away the soaked pillow and replaced it with a cup and saucer.

"So what was your dream about?" she asked casually.

"How did you...? Never mind; why do you care_ now_?"

Claes glanced at her with amusement as she sipped her tea.

"Reverse psychology."


	4. Daydream

**A.N.** is at the end!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Gunslinger Girl or any of its characters.

* * *

Broken Brain, Healing Heart

Chapter Four

Daydream

* * *

You see things; and you say, 'Why?' But I dream things that never were; and I say, 'Why not?'

**George Bernard Shaw,** _"Back to Methuselah" (1921), part 1, act 1_

_

* * *

  
_At 7:00 Triela met Hillshire in front of the dormitory. The keys to his Mercedes in his right hand clacked together noisily as the two walked to the parking lot in silence. Stifling a yawn, Triela tried to clear her mind of everything but the spots of moisture appearing on the ground in front of her. However, even the high quality of her new brain was too sluggish to do a very good job. Instead she found herself thinking about the weirdest things upon inspiration.

For example, Hillshire's keys sparked the question, _when do I get to drive?_

A bird passing by reminded her of the superhero comics Claes gave Henrietta and Rico when she'd grown out of them. Etta had cut out the figures and framed her favorites. Rico...well, Rico used them for target practice.

The dandelion fluff growing along the meager strips of grass raised a fresh batch of tears as she remembered her stupidest, most ridiculous, scariest, most disturbing dream ever. Come to think of it, this was the only time she'd remembered a dream—_nightmare_, she corrected—so clearly.

And then there was Amadeo's pride and joy—his cherry red convertible, without so much as a scratch marring its perfection. Her brain connected it to the bright nail polish Giuseppe had bought for Henrietta. Triela shuddered at the memory of it; they'd had to replace the door! And the smell! What had she thought it was, watercolors?

While Hillshire started the engine, she blurted, "Can we stop for coffee?" She felt like she was going to crash and burn; her hands were cold, and the cramps were killing her: a warm drink packed with caffeine was the perfect solution. Her handler turned pale.

"What?"

"It's just...Triela, you remember that...that time with Claes and Angelica, don't you?"

Suddenly her brain kicked in, the horror of the incident giving her an energy boost while her eyes widened. "Oh. _That_."

Hillshire's hands gripped the steering wheel at the memory. He glanced at her. "Why do you need coffee anyway?"

Staring at her boots, Triela couldn't bear to face him. "I...didn't sleep well..."

Thank God they weren't on the highway. Hillshire slammed on the brakes.

"I thought I told you to _tell me_ if...if you were affected!" he said, absolutely livid.

"I'm sorry...It's just...I'm okay, really, Hillshire. Just let me deal with--"

"_Nein! Ich werde nicht zulassen, dies geschieht auf Sie! _Verdammt_, Triela, können Sie es alleine nicht mehr aufhören_!" he yelled, his words becoming more desperate with each second.

"_Es ist zu spät! Normalerweise kann ich auch nicht vergessen, meine Träume! Hillshire, wissen Sie, warum es passiert. Ich sterbe._"

He glared at her for a second longer, his jaw clenched. Then he put his foot to the gas pedal again, and turned the car around. Within minutes they were back at the SWA. He stopped the car and gestured for her to get out.

"What?"

"Go get some rest. I'll be back. There are some people I've got to talk to first."

* * *

Hillshire shoved his way past engineer after engineer, searching for the men he was looking for.

"Bianchi! Where are you, you bastard?" he snarled, scanning the crowd of engineers for the one man he knew to blame. He finally found him, just finished with the conditioning of a second-gen cyborg. The doctor took one look at him and invited him into a vacant office.

"Sit down, Victor," he sighed, pulling up a chair for himself. Reluctantly, the German obeyed.

Following a long stretch of awkward silence, Fernando stood.

"I'll get her file," he said quietly.

Victor Hartmann sat in the still-dark room, unable to think of anything but what Triela had said: _Ich sterbe_.

_She can't be! Not after...after everything. There's got to be a way. I kept her on limited conditioning; she's only had a few serious injuries. She just..._can't_ be._

He was startled out of his reverie when Bianchi and two men he barely recognized filed into the office. Fernando was last, locking the door firmly before seating himself with a serious expression. He gestured to the other two, who smiled stiffly from where they remained standing by the door.

"This is Dr. Gilliani, who is our prosthetics expert. And Dr. Belgonchi, who specializes in creating artificial organs and organ systems for the girls. Dr. Gilliani, if you will--"

"No, Bianchi!" exploded Hillshire. "This is because of what you do! Because you messed with her head, she's going to wear down and waste away and then become something even worse than what she was when I found her! It's your damn fault!"

Bianchi sighed, waving the newcomers out of the office. "Victor, we've been through this before. You knew it was coming. Be grateful she's lasting this long."

"And how long will it be? Until she's hooked up to all the tubes and wires, and she can't even breathe without a machine's help? She'll hate that; she'll kill herself the moment you start sticking all those needles into her. And believe me, if she asks me to end it for her..."

He looked straight in the doctor's eyes. "If she asks me to do that, _so help me_, I'll do it. I'll make myself do it. She's going through enough tough shit right now as it is..."

Bianchi took out a notepad. "Like what?"

"She's been having lots of dreams..." Hillshire started.

"Yes, yes, I know," murmured Fernando.

"...and remembering them, too. Bad ones."

The doctor looked up, surprised. Digging through the plump folder that was Triela's personal file, he asked more and more questions with each document he analyzed. After what must have been hours of ruthless interrogation, Bianchi slumped back into his chair, rubbing his forehead wearily.

"I don't know, Victor," he sighed. "I don't know what this all means yet. It could be just an effect of her addiction to the medication—it might be starting to affect some of the conditioning.

"Or," he continued, "perhaps, when you told her about her past, it triggered something that overrode the restrictions we set. We'll bring her in for some scans in a couple days and see if we can scope it out. Now, out! Believe it or not, I have real work to do, and you're interrupting!" He shooed Hillshire through the open door and followed, setting a brisk pace as he weaved through the busy hallways.

"Fernando!" gasped Hillshire, shoving his way through after him. "Bianchi! You're a shrink, you're supposed to care about everyone's _feelings_, dammit!" But it was no use. He'd let what could be Triela's last chance slip through his fingers without even getting a decent answer.

* * *

_  
The warmth of the blankets wrapped around her brought Triela's frazzled mind to halt, soothing every mental ache as she closed her eyes.  
_

_"Mmm..."  
_

_She was lying in a hammock hung between two oak trees, swayed by a breeze that lifted her hair. Birds chattered and chirped in their nests, filling the calm with a peaceful melody. As the sun warmed her skin, she wrapped her arms around herself and hummed along with the birds, feeling fully at peace. Was this what it felt like for people who always remembered their dreams? This sensation of connection with the entire world? She would gladly take a thousand nightmares if only she could experience this as well.  
_

_She closed her eyes, letting the smell of fresh morning dew envelop her. Soon faces swam before her eyes—some she didn't recognize, some she thought she'd seen before, and then some who were dear to her. Claes, Henrietta, Rico...Angelica...And then, as she expected, her mind conjured up Hillshire's face in all its glory. Each feature she'd once mocked during her chats with Claes, illuminated in striking detail. She felt the corners of her mouth tug themselves into a grin while she examined each pore, disgusting herself with the growth of her infatuation.  
_

_And then suddenly the birds around her screeched, their shrill cries becoming sirens. Triela shut her eyes tighter from the chilling sound. As if triggered by her reaction, she felt rather than saw the deadly assault, and heard rather than witnessed the splash of blood when it collided with its target._

And then Claes was shaking her awake, Hillshire's own solemn face visible in the background. "Snap out of it!" shrieked her roommate, not noticing when Triela's breathing steadied. Instead she brought her hand back, slapping her with a palm repeatedly.

"Claes! I'm fine, I'm _fine_!" Triela yelled, hitting her head on the bunk with a thud as she did so.

Claes said nothing, sneaking a glance at Hillshire with one of her looks.

_I told you_, she mouthed.

"Told me what?" asked Triela as calmly as she could manage. When neither answered, she sighed angrily and mumbled the first curse words that came to her mind.

As she and Hillshire left the room (to do what, she wasn't certain) she took the initiative to wipe the tears away with the back of her hand.

* * *

**  
A.N.** Thank you, Google! The German in this chapter can be translated to:

Hillshire: No! I won't let this to happen to you! Goddammit, Triela, you can't stop it alone!

Triela: It's too late! Normally, I can't even remember my dreams! Hillshire, you know why it's happening. I'm dying.

I'm sure it's not too accurate, but I wanted them to speak some German. xD

Some new plot lines have been set in motion here. One of them will definitely be fleshed out more in the next chapter. As for the others—I'm not sure when they'll come into play. Sorry for the long(er) wait, but school and some extracurricular activities take time. Also, a note on the conditioning process: I don't know if everything I've written does or will agree with canon's way of doing things, but I got as close as I could.

Thanks for all the reviews from the last chapter; feedback on this one would be greatly appreciated!


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